


Nymeria

by wildechilde17



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After episode 8:04, F/M, Fix-It, The lone wolf dies but the pack survives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildechilde17/pseuds/wildechilde17
Summary: On the road the the King's Road there isn't enough ale in the seven kingdoms to shut up the hound.  Post episode 8:04.





	Nymeria

"Wolf girl,” he grunts and then spits the gristle from the salted meat he keeps chewing, “You think if we ride for long enough he’ll turn back?” 

“Who?” she answers coldly. She knows exactly who Clegane is referring to but she isn’t about to give any of them the satisfaction.

“Ah hark at you,” he chuckles bitterly but he doesn’t shut up. “You’re a cold bitch but you’re no fool. That bastard smith though, he might be.” She raises an eyebrow. The Hound has been sniping at Gendry since they all flocked to Winterfell. She has kept a weather eye on them both from afar and up close. You needed to pay attention if you were going to predict the next move. Too many things have been catching her off guard of late. “The boy’s a bull, he can fight, but he ain’t stealthy.” 

She doesn’t look over her shoulder, north along the Kings Road. Clegane is watching her. Even if he weren’t she can hear it too, the loose saddle bags, the uneven gait, the rider not rising with the horse. “He’s the Lord of Storms End now. He’s your better. I would shut your mouth, Clegane.”

He’ll turn back or maybe he’ll stop at the cross roads and then he’ll be safe with Hotpie. It would make sense that he leaves her at the cross roads. He has to leave her. He’ll be a good Lord. Better than his father maybe as good as hers. He can marry a pretty, soft sweet smelling lady and have a score of children. If he is anything like his father he could people the Stormlands.

“Ah piss on that. Piss on Lords.” He swigs from a flask, “He did.”

“What?” 

“Your boy.” He grins when he sees her pull up on the reins. “Told the Dragon Queen he wouldn’t be taking no lordship. That he’d fight for her but he didn’t know which way were up on a fork and he weren’t the man she were looking for.” He leans forward on his saddle, the lank lock of hair covering his eye. “Should have seen him all pale faced and that Dragon looked like he’d shit in her stew.” He laughs but he is watching her too closely for it to be a genuine laugh, “Davos choked on it and all.”

She nods and pushes her heal into the rib of her horse forcing it ahead of him, “Do you ever shut up?”

“You didn’t know,” he declares to her back. “He’d been looking for you.”

“He found me.” 

“So why’s he still looking then.”

“He’s stupid.”

His black stead pulls up beside her, “You got a magic cunt between those leathers?”

She rolls her eyes and rests her hand on the pommel of the cats paw, “Just a dagger.”

He only grunts, “I’m not afraid of you. Is he?”

“No,” she says tiredly. She supposes that talking of Gendry is taking his mind of the oozing wounds and bruising as much as it is hers. It is no reason to continue the conversation however. 

“Yes, he is,” he says suddenly serious for all his talk of magic cunts and shite stew. “He is terrified of you. You’re the only thing he ever wanted. He used to look at you like you were a roast chicken. You were both starving skinny things. More feral animals than children. Loose in the Riverlands. Shoulda been dead a thousand times over.” She narrows her eyes watching him mumble and grunt his way through to some kind of point, “He still would have gone for you over a hundred dressed chickens, a good whore and a featherbed.”

“Will I have to listen to this for the length of the King’s Road or…”

“You think he’s ever ridden a horse before?” He’s looking over his shoulder now, his eyes following along the black hoof prints they’ve left in the newly fallen snow. “Poor nag doesn’t seem to know if it’s coming or going.”

“Why do you care?”

“Animals are better than people,” he answers with a shrug.

“Not about the horse.”

He only answers with another shrug. 

It is done then and as it should be. Arya Stark sister of Jon and Sansa and Bran, friend of Gendry and Hotpie, child of Winterfell was something she had held on to for so long and now it was falling away. All of it gone. It was good. The list needed to be finished. 

The rhythm was soothing even if each down beat was marked the feeling of bruising hitting leather and the hard flesh of horse. She lets her eyes close.

“He stopped me from killing you.”

She opens her eyes slowly, “You couldn’t have killed me.” 

“Maybe not Arya Stark, Hero of Winterfell,” he says. “That weasel girl in the Riverlands though. You went for me with a knife. He stopped you. I remember.” She turns to watch him. He taps his nose. “He said your name. You’re no fool. Why’d you tell that speck of flea bottom shite who you were?” 

“Because.” 

“Because why?” he insists. She is sick of his squinty miserable face. She is sick of the quiet sound of another horse following them at a distance ridden by a stupid, stupid boy and his stupid, stupid hammer. 

“The lone wolf dies. The pack survives.”

He looks at her like she thinks mercy is a thing in a time of war, “You made a bull a part of your pack?”

“And a hound.”

“Gods. Who said I wanted in?”

She couldn’t kill him. He’d asked for a quick death but she couldn’t kill him. She should have killed him. And he wasn’t a boy not anymore. He was strong. And kind. And different from all the rapers and murders and… her temple aches. 

“Will you shut up now.” She shuts her eyes tight, the mare beneath her continues on. He’d been so happy. He’d tasted like ale. And he’d stood before Jon’s queen and told her he wasn’t going to have his name. Why would he… stupid boy. 

“If we stop.”

“I have business in Kings Landing.” Arya scowls. 

“Oh aye. But you aren’t going without your pack. You mean to survive.” 

She snaps her eyes open. “I don’t have a pack.”

“Hells you do,” he grumbles, his leather gloves creaking in the cold as he grips the reins. “You’ve got a hound, a bull, a little bird and a three eyed arsing Raven. You’ve got a fucking menagerie. Like that fucking Dornish Princess, what’s her arsing name?”

“Nymeria,” she whispers, letting it it curl her lips.

“Piss on all of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing in this fandom. But I needed, like I fear most of everyone watching ,needed to do something about this.


End file.
